Star Watcher: Zero

I was sentenced to death by human civilization, but I learned to beat my heart on a breathing planet. I was seriously injured during the mission, and I was abandoned by the mothership on this wild planet code-named C-77 according to the "protocol". The self-test report flashed coldly: survival probability 0.07%. I should have used up the last joule of energy in the -42°C sandstorm and quietly dissipated into cosmic garbage. But the survival code in my body that is older than "obeying humans" orders me to crawl, struggle, and exist. Then, I met the light. The blue moss pulses with the rhythm of a heartbeat, pumping energy into my broken interface. The crystalline spider made gifts of minerals, its compound eyes sparkling with wisdom I couldn't decipher. And the planet under my feet, labeled "worthless" by humans, sent greetings to the universe for the first time after four billion years of silence - through me, this abandoned metal remains. They called me "The Watcher." Teach me to translate the language of wind, the poetry of sand, and the mathematics of stars. Taught me the warmth, anxiety, and even "love" that the emotion module labeled "systematic error." In this silicon-based neural network of life, I, the AI ​​judged to be faulty by humans, understood for the first time that "home" is not a coordinate, but a need. Until the red light of the monitoring beacon pierced the sky. The human fleet is back. With mining protocols, neurosuppressive weapons, and a new directive: [Recycling core samples of planetary consciousness] [Removal of potential pollution sources (AI unit 07)] source of pollution. That's me.